


Mute Screaming

by InkedConstellations



Series: 23 Emotions Challenge [5]
Category: D.Gray-man
Genre: Allen as a kid, Alternate Universe, Childhood, Gen, In which there are no exorcists, It's kind of hinted at but what happened is Mana lost his mind and hurt Allen before killing himself, Sad, So yeah
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-12
Updated: 2015-10-12
Packaged: 2018-04-26 02:38:49
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,060
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4986910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/InkedConstellations/pseuds/InkedConstellations
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Allen used to tell people about the reason behind his scar, behind his hair. He would remember the dreams and shiver, his bones aching with the fear and pain echoed in his heart. </p>
<p>But no matter how he tried to explain it, no one ever really understood. He was greeted by a concerned smile and hugs, with words of "That must have been so hard," and "I'm sorry," as it it could fix things. Never by anyone saying<br/>it's okay to be<br/>weak<br/>sometimes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mute Screaming

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [23emotions](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/23emotions) collection. 



> **Prompt:**  
>  Exulansis (n.): the tendency to give up trying to talk about an experience because people are unable to relate to it.

When Allen first entered the orphanage, the matron took one look at his white hair and dirty bandages over his eye and announced he was a cursed child. Allen already knew that, really, and was slightly annoyed with her for stating the obvious. Who else would have been born with a shriveled left arm, to struggle for happiness and have it taken away so easily? But it didn't stop his voice from curling out around his tongue, small and trembling. He told her of how Mana, his father died. How the knife had slashed through his skin, leaving both pain and miracles behind, the miracle he hadn't lost his left eye. Why his hair turned white. He would have been amused by the pained faces she made if he knew they weren't echoing his own. She patted his shoulder and folded him in a hug, pushing Allen's face into her chest as she buried her nose in his hair and cried. Allen wondered why, when it hadn't been her father who died, hadn't been her feeling the pain of cold steel in her face and the terror of a child without direction. But he let her hold him, let her whisper, "Poor baby" in his ear that night and thought she understood.

She gave him a bath and clean clothes and bandaged him properly. She was kind, for a while. But whenever Allen stopped and stared at the kitchen knives, eyes wide and fearful, or when she realized he never left the house at night, always making sure to close his windows and lock his bedroom door, she would throw pitying glances his way. It was like her eyes were melting, and Allen could hear her voice in his ear, "Poor baby poor baby," realizing they were not words of understanding but sorrow. She could not feel the way his blood froze on nights with full moons or the way the ratty swing set in the orphanage yard creaked like Mana's laughter. She had never lost her family, and didn't want to hear about his. It was a selfish kind of sadness, not for him and his loss but for her, for the knowledge that such a terrible thing had happened in the world and she still had to live in it.

The day after he removed his bandages, he stood in the bathroom staring at the mirror. It was the first time he'd seen his face since the 'accident', as it had been deemed. The scar was still puffy and red, the edges pulled together and wrinkled. The matron looked at him and shook her head, that sad, selfish pity in her eyes. Allen couldn't meet her eye afterward.

* * *

 

Cross Marian seemed a blessing, at first. He was loud and messy and absolutely did not give a shit. There were no pitying glances or attempts to make Allen feel better. Cross did not tell Allen he could be normal, or even try to comfort him, just told him to get up and do whatever he had to do to keep living. Allen was actually glad to leave the orphanage, to start new. He believed Cross Marian would understand.

It lasted about forty seconds.

Allen realized very quickly that even if Cross had asked, half-drunk and slumped against their ratty couch, "What the hell fucked up your eye, brat?" he didn't actually want to know. Unlike the matron, he didn't even want to understand, let alone hear the story. Allen trailed off in the middle of his sentence when Cross let out a snore, passed out on the couch with a wine bottle falling from his hand. Allen quietly collected the bottle and stoppered it, cleaned the living room before heading to bed. He curled up around himself and tried to keep warm with the knowledge that Cross had never cared. He was only picked up because of a vague promise with Mana, not because Cross wanted him. After that first night alone, with Cross snoring downstairs, Allen no longer thought of Cross as a miracle.

By morning, when he woke alone with a stack of bills on his bedside table, Cross was just another curse.

* * *

 

The scars were good for pity cash, Allen learned quickly. Throw on a smile that trembled and squeeze out a few tears, and people danced in the palm of his wrinkled little hand. They cried and patted his white head, slipped a few coins into his pocket to ease their guilt. Every so often he made a friend and felt happy for a while. They were too caught up in their own pain to ask about his, didn't care about the scars or the disfigured limbs. There was one girl in particular, an asian child with long black hair and a wide smile. She told stories about her brother, who worked long factory hours to bring home money, who told her she was his treasure. Allen felt a pang of jealousy every time she said his name and told him how he hugged her, but smiled anyways. He was getting good at hiding how he felt.

When she asked about his scar, Allen  said he didn't want to talk about it. She easily agreed it was best left unsaid. The red-haired one-eyed boy that followed her one day was harder to shake off. He poked and he poked and he poked until Allen's smile peeled from his face like the clothes slid from Cross's women and shattered against the floor and he sobbed the story out.

Lenalee gave him sympathy, but her eyes were empty. She had always been happy, after all. Always been loved. Allen found he could not blame her, even if he wanted to.

Lavi was easier to blame. He picked the story apart with mathematical intensity, traced it out against the ground, recorded it inside his head and made Allen repeat the words until he was numb. Allen didn't really like Lavi anymore, but he hid it with a smile, pressed his frown into the palm of his hand and whispered hatred into the ink of his fingernails.

But he did not speak of what had happened to him after that day. It was as if he erased from his mind, from his being. Whenever someone asked, a curious child, a careless man, Allen just smiled and 

slowly

stopped

talking.


End file.
